


The Chronicles of Inquisitor Lavellan

by DragonAgeSketchz



Series: Isala Revassan Levallan [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (Eventually I mean this is a slow burn), All things that come with Iron Bull's relationship, Angst, Animal antics, Blood and Gore, Canon is crap cause this franchise doesn't understand the meaning of consistency, DLC Dragon Age Spoilers, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Dragon Age Descent Spoilers, Dragon Age Lore, Dragon Age Spoilers, Dragon Age The Trespasser Spoilers, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Everything eventually comes to Iron Bull that's why its the tagged relationship, F/M, Fluff, Girl just looking for a home, I use to have a tag that said "Canon as possible" but forget that., Jaws of Hakkon Spoilers, Lavellan Backstory, Other, Past Relationships, Romance, Sexual Humor, Slow Burn, elven language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-04-24 02:32:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4902175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonAgeSketchz/pseuds/DragonAgeSketchz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The complete chronicle of Inquisitor Isala Revassan Lavellan. From the Fifth Blight to her time as Inquisitor.</p><p>Like most of her age, Isala's life changed during the fifth blight. It was a time when change was fueled with blood and death. Over the years that follow, she finds a place to carve out as her own. But change begins to brew once again in the human world, powerful enough to affect her clan. As tensions continue to grow and the Conclave is announced, her Keeper decides to send a witness.</p><p>And a witness she becomes. One in the center of  the chaos that once again tears the world apart. Isala desperately clings to her roots, the only thing she understands. She struggles not only to find her new place in this world; but also battle against the Anchor, closing the Breach, and find those responsible. She meets a man who helps her understand everything, but causes her to question just as much. A man she begins to care for; but such feelings are a luxury during war; ones tainted with lies and betrayal. </p><p>She fights against the threats to the herself and the world. She doesn't know who she can trust, if anyone at all.</p><p>She is determined to stand while the world waits for her fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ha'lam Arla

Quiet, silent. Don’t move, don’t breathe. They’ll hear and they’ll come.

What is that smell? Acrid, bitter, choking and tangy on the tongue.

Smoke.

The air is thick with it, burning my eyes and forcing them shut. Where is the fire? Where is Mamae and Father? Where is the Keeper? The other children?

The smoke had grown thick, blinding and choking, separating us. They were gone too quickly, scattering through the smoke at the sounds of shrill screams, cut off bellows, and clashing weapons.

Those noises grow stronger once more, as I cower further into the bush behind the wheel of the Keeper’s aravel. I’m too young to fight, too old to hide, but too afraid to do anything but scurry away.

_Mamae, Father…_

A wet squelching sound comes from behind me, echoed by a dull thud. The feeling of warm flesh presses against my hand as tremors wrack my legs. Looking down, all I see is Mamae.

_Mamae…?_

My blood runs cold; a screeching noise assaults my ears.

It reverberates through my chest, my breath escapes all at once, causing my head to spin. I clamp my mouth shut, teeth clicking as they meet. The screeching noise ceases instantly and after a beat I force myself to take a shaky breath, to listen.

At first, there’s nothing. But then I hear a soft rumbling noise, like far off thunder building in the distance. Slowly it grows louder. The ground begins to tremble. Shaking, I lie on my belly. The metallic tang of blood soaked earth hangs in the air, coating my tongue as it soaks through my shirt. Bile rushes up my throat, spiking past my lips as I stare at Mamae’s headless form that lies and arms length away.

The strong stench mixes with the others, disgustingly cutting through the air. I move away from the spot, angling myself away as I peek beneath the bow of the aravel.

At first it seems clear, then a pair of large wrapped feet step into my view. They amble forward a few steps, stopping for a beat. The mangled feet shift, and my view becomes blocked by large gnarled horns. They score the earth as the creature attached rushes forward. It uproots the aravel and I cling to the wheel as it tosses the aravel into the air. My grip falters as the aravel is swung sharply to the side. I begin plummeting back to the earth, my scream claws through the empty air and the aravel lands a hundred paces away from the beast and me. Desperately, I grasp a twisted limb of its horns, wrenching my arm.

Scrambling for a foothold, I survey the massive beast's horns, marveling with disgust. They sprout from its crown, they twist as if gnarled, diseased branches. The flesh is a sickly purple-grey, rotting away into to blackish sores. Wafting off the creature was the odor of gore and rotting flesh. As the stench overcomes me, my stomach rolls, ready to spill over once more.

“Isala!”

The shrill calling of my name has the nausea still as I focus on the voice.

“Isala! Help lethallan!”

Scrambling for better purchase as my grip slips. I go to call out, forgetting myself in that moment. The beast—the ogre—then throws its head back, letting out a roar that reverberates through the decimated camp. My fingers loose their grip, sending me tumbling down the ogre’s back.

I roll onto my ankle with a nauseating crack as I land in a heap of tangled limbs. The ogre turns, letting out another roar that coats me in thick, ropey spittle. Its massive form roots me in place. It’s so close I can do nothing but stare. Crude armor adorns its arms and groin—the rest of its rotting flesh is exposed. Jaws of elongated, mangled, rotting teeth are inches away. There’s nowhere to run.

I’m going to die.

Praying silently, I stare up at the ogre, the pain in my ankle gnawing at the back of my mind. It's going to crush me and then the other children. With all my training to be a hunter, why can’t I fight?

The ogre launches another aravel into the trees; the splintering wood and shrill screams jerk me to my feet. The children! Were there some in that aravel? Oh creators, where are they? The smoke is too thick, I can’t see.

Stay focused, Isala! You’re going to get yourself—

I’m swept from my feet by the ogre’s crushing grip. The air whooshes from my lungs and black dots swirl before my eyes as the pressure of its grip grows. Struggling and gasping for air, my body is whipped around like a rag doll. Red lines my vision as the pain shoots down my spine. Everything hurts.

I’m going to break!

I fervently fight for air as the shaking continues, another bout of nausea rises in my gut. All I can see is a blur of milky eyes, rotting flesh, and distorted horns. Then, the ground.

I hit it hard.

My stomach turns as a burst of pain dazzles me, my breath chased away. Agony grips my mind as I weakly roll off my side. My gaze wanders skyward, heart kicking faster. The sight of the ogre's raised fist runs me cold. It swings down, fast like a hammer and I throw mine up.

I wait for the blow that never comes, an unnatural chill settles over me. Cautiously, I peer over my palms. Frosted milky eyes twitch, following my every move. Its frozen form teeters forward, I scramble back just in time. Where I lied moments ago, now held the shatter remains of a twisted beast. Tears well up in my eyes, and my hands tremble. A new kind of fear grips my gut as I watch the frost fade from my fingertips.

Magic. Oh creators, I just did magic….

Weakly I struggle against my own body in a futile effort to stand. My gaze flicks around the camp shrouded in thick, oily smoke. The ill-boding silence disturbed by the far off noises of a dying battle. Metal bashing together, cries of falling hunters and darkspawn, the roars of blazing fire filling the air with choking smoke.

“Isala! Isala—!”

A sickening noise cuts off the shrill scream. The echoing by cries of “lethallin” and “Adahl” have me stumbling forward. But as I go to pass Mamae’s corpse I falter. I try to peer through the smoke at what might lie ahead, though all I accomplish is straining my eyes and sending myself into a coughing fit. The foolishness in pressing forward, blind and unarmed, weighs on me with the thought of Adahl.

Adahl just died.

That cry couldn’t mean anything but. Such a thought strangles me with sadness as I kneel beside Mamae’s form. Smothering the feeling, I scoop up Mamae’s daggers and quill, hastily donning them and her bow.

"Ir abelas Mamae, ha’mi’in. Dar’eth shiral," I murmur in parting.

Blindly, I stepped forward, my side burning, ankle throbbing, and short of breath. After what seems like hours of hobbling lost through the smoke, a strained voice rings out finally giving me direction.

“Isala! Isala! Ghi’banalhan! Ghi’banalhan!”

Darkspawn? How many?

With a limp I continue on. A throaty, coarser yell followed by the cracking of wood and shrill screams urge my speed. Throwing caution to the wind, I break into a sprint. Tall dark shapes form in the distance and in my haste, I trip on what seems like an exposed root. Cursing as I look back, the words quickly die on my lips.

_Enasal…Nehn…Revas…._

I had found them.

Messily thrown upon each other, blood pooling around their broken forms, their lifeless eyes filmed over and looking upwards. I scan around and a few more vague lumps become clear, a new pain rips through me.

_Seth, Sulahn, Sulevin…Oh creators…Where’s Revas, Mihris and Ariane?_

My breath is harder to find as I stumble forward, passing two more lifeless forms.

_Mihris and Ariane._

Nearing the edge of both smoke and camp, I could easily make out four heavily armored forms and a broken aravel. Clinging to the mast, Revas scrambles to get higher, the darkspawn hacking at the body of the aravel. Thankfully I’m still unseen while I ready myself, notching the arrow, a silent prayer is on my lips as it flies forward.

_Vir Assan, Vir Bor'assan, Vir Adahl'en._

The arrow sinks into the side of a darkspawn's skull, it bellows out a distorted cry of pain, and I fell the beast with another to its chest. Turning to me, two of its companions charge while Revas seems too stunned to move. I slay the two darkspawn with arrows to their chests. The last one abandons the aravel, giving Revas a window.

"Revas, run!"

Scrambling down the mass, he bolts once his feet touch the ground. As he rounds the bow, the last darkspawn falls and I collapse to my knees, drained. Dropping my bow, I open my arms to Revas, relief filling me as he begins to closes the distance between us.

But I was foolish. Too inexperienced, too cocky.

A fifth darkspawn emerges from behind the wreckage of the aravel. It cuts him off, thrusting its bladed claws into his belly. It pushes Revas away, turning to me with a gnarled hand raised. A spell of searing cold punches into my side, toppling me over as I draw Mamae’s daggers. Pain blooms across my side, another spell hits me and ice coats my chest. Without a reprieve I’m hit with a third spell; electricity sears through my veins, paralyzing me.

The darkspawn stands over me. It seems to sneer smugly as the bite of it blade claws sinks into my shoulder. Gritting my teeth, I strain to push it away. But the blades bites further into my shoulder, overwhelming me with pain. It’s too much…I wasn’t fast enough.

Mamae, Father...Can darkspawn smile?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here's Part 1, the first chapter of the story. This is my first story on AO3, and I hope you all enjoyed it. I wasn't sure if I should include the translation for the elven at the end of each chapter or not, so I'm just going to do it at the end of each part. Unless you guys want it at the end of each chapter, let me know.
> 
> So I hope you enjoyed it and I look forward to working on this.
> 
> 7/18/16 Edit:
> 
> So I'm coming back to this after a very long, unplanned hiatus. I'm so sorry guys. As you can see I've gone and taken some liberties and edited the story. I made some minor changes to the first chapter, and I should have the new second chapter up by the end of the week for sure since it's already written. This is going to be an un-beta read series now so if you see anything please let me know. Thanks I hope you will put up with me for a little longer so you can enjoy this story


	2. Liam Da'lan

With a start, I sit up coughing, spluttering, and choking on air as my gut heaves. Bile rushes up, spilling down my front and splattering onto the ground. My stomach clenches, lurching and gagging me. The struggle between breathing and dry heaving, claws at my throat. My vision blurs, eyes watering as blood rushes in my ears, head spinning.

My arms shake beneath me as I move to my knees, and then feet. However, the movement twists my stomach with pain shooting up from my ankle which gives out from beneath me. Meeting the ground is rough; rocks and twigs bite into my flesh. A white cloud rises around me, choking and bitter on the tongue as it stinging my eyes.

I just lay there, my ankle screaming with pain as I take choking gasps of air, the dust burning my lungs and it all comes back. The darkspawn, the ogre, the children, and Mihris.

My clan is dead.

A different kind of pain blooms in my chest.

They’re all dead, all gone. The thought of the lifeless shells of the children surrounding me, rips through my chest. Chasing it is the thought that it isn’t just them, but also the destroyed aravels and blackened corpses of what once were lush healthy tree.

I clamber to my feet, like a newborn calf, legs wobbling, pain hounding my every step till I finally fall onto the side of a burnt aravel. The ruined campsite is worse than I expected. Leagues upon leagues of ash-covered grounds lay before me, smoldering or still burning aravel and corpses dot the landscape, my clan laying in the distance. Their remains, their armored corpses, covered in ash as it continued to fall from the sky.

Eerily echoing in the distance comes a thunderous roar. Is that another ogre? Oh creators, I need to leave—

The pain of mistakenly rough steps, brings me to my knees. Gingerly, I bring my ankle closer; even through the ash, I could see the swollen discoloration. I need to find the healer’s aravel, or my own…if it’s still here. Not only did my ankle require attention, but also my ribs throb with every breath, and the knife wound...

With the barest of touch, I touch my shoulder – Taking a sharp breath, I rip my hand away, the sting of soot on my hands a sharp bite that goes deep into my bones.

The groan and clatter of crumbling wood stirs ash back into the breeze and draws my eyes to the nearest aravel, and my breath catches. Though on it’s side and there’s a sizable hole in the bow, it was mostly whole and only slightly charred.

My family’s aravel.

I make my way towards over, hobbling as my ankle buckles beneath me every now and then. The slow pace chews at my nerves as a wolf’s howl echoes in the distance, my ears straining for the more sinister roar.

When I reach the aravel, I fall to my knees, crawling into the land ship and dragging myself towards the back. All the sacks and bedrolls are clustered on the seam of the floor and what was once the wall. I struggle to drag myself over the destroyed boards, finally reaching the cluster of bag with splinters filled hands and labored breath.

Rifling through the bags, relief fills me as I find Mamae’s bag of injury kits and health potions. Uncorking a bottle, I throw back its contents, the tang of elfroot a welcomed taste as the aches recede and the pain lessens. Before wrapping my ribs, I down two more bottles, a pleasant warmth pooling in my belly as it chases the last of the pain away.

It feels like hours have passed before I am fully bandaged and my sack is packed with what food and what supplies are left. Grabbing the bedroll, I strap it to my back and pause as a lone howl fills the clearing.

* * *

 

It was so close, I could feel the call in my bones, and before the first one ended, three more echoed in the air. There is no way I can defend myself against a wolf, let alone a whole pack. A second chorus of howls, just as chilling as the first, rings out. It is all I need to motivate my legs.

Slowly, I retrace my steps before limping toward the head of camp. Cautiously I stoop to retrieve Mamae’s bow, slinging it across my back. My eyes restlessly flick around the clearing, my ears straining over the thud of my pulse and breath. Both are too loud, the more I try to listen the louder they seem to get. Even the shuffling of my feet seems as loud as thunder as I continue limping my way through the wreckage in the clear.

_Snap._

An involuntary squeal catches in my throat as I twist in the direction of the sound, drawing my daggers. A snarl comes from my left. My eyes focus on the aravels and I catch sight of a large black form darting behind them.

Run.

The word screams in my head, becoming a chant that beats with my pulse as I break into a dead sprint. They shouldn’t chase me; there is plenty of food for them in the clearing. The sickening thought is little comfort to me as I run, weaving through the trees despite the protests of my ankle. Even after all the elfroot, it threatens to give out from beneath me.

My foot catches on a gnarled root and I stubble forward, catching myself on a tree. My chest burns, my sides feeling overly stretched as I lean against the tree. Taking that moment to rest, placing my head against the cool mossy trunk. I close my eyes and gulp in air as if I had just broken through the surface of a lake.

I just barely hear it over my thrumming pulse, soft footfalls coming from behind me. Stiffening, I slowly glance over my shoulder. In the soft green light filtering in through the trees, four pairs of eyes glitter back at me. For wolves, they looked all wrong, hair having fallen off in clumps, leaving flesh raw and exposed. Thick, spine-like clumps of hair sprout along their spines, a second set of claws growing above the first on their paws.

Fen’benal.

These wolves were tainted. Even if my ankle was whole, I wasn’t going to be able to outrun them for long. Climbing a tree is out of the question. I slowly begin inching around the tree, my eyes locked on the leading wolf. As soon as the tree was between us, I took off. I scramble to put distance between us, and there was a pause, no sound of chase. For a moment, I hoped they had abandoned their interest of me.

However, as I weave through the trees, crashing through the low hanging branches I hear teeth snapping behind me. I could practically feel the hot breath washing over my neck.

Oh creators no.

With a cry, I push myself faster, my pack thumping against me. It agitates my side further, shortening my breath. Mythal help me. I try to lengthen my stride, my ankle burning as my feet pound against the ground. As I weave through the trees, the forest slowly starts to become lush. I crash into thick brambles, blindly fighting my way through. It all but stops me the further I go in, catching my hair but for a moment, it gives the wolves pause. The pain has tears streaming down my face as I finally break through, my skin stinging as the air washes over my cuts.

Suddenly, air greets my step. A high shrill scream tears from my throat as I’m sent plummeting me to the ground. I crash into the side the ravine, landing on my shoulder as I’m sent spinning down to the bottom. My vision swims, my shoulder numb and my whole chest on fire. My hair, caked with mud and tangled with leaves, obscures my sight. The edge of the ravine continues to dance as I try to focus. There is snarling and the forms of eight, no four, wolves crest the rise. They pace and snap at each other as they stare down at me.

My vision starts to settle, I weakly try to sit up, but my shoulder shoots a pain down my spine that has my stomach clenching and my breath catching in my throat. Nausea washes over me, I fall back onto the ground staring up at them with near helpless horror when one jumps down. It slips and slides, tumbling all the way down to the bottom. I scramble back, with one arm and one leg uselessly flopping against the ground. It stalks forward, bringing its putrid stench with it. My mouth waters in disgust, stomach clenching and threatening to empty itself as the smell of rot and putrefying wounds get stronger. The wolf is now mere feet away from me, it crouches down, eyes locked on me as it leaps forward.

I can barely fling my arm up fast enough; my forearm stops it from locking its jaws around me. My hand can barely find a grip as clumps of fur and festering wounds leave me holding nothing. Warm spit coats my face as fangs almost scrape my cheek. The wolf surges forward and my arm gives for a moment, the sharp feeling of teeth rake across my throat, spurring me to push back with both arms. The sickening shot of pain hits me again as a light bursts from my palms and the wolf shoots back, hitting the wall of the ravine. The snapping of bone and a pained yelp rings out. Ice spreads across its prone form from the ice spike protruding from its chest. Hostile snarls come from the ledge above me, the other three wolves testing the edge. I hold my breath, not sure if I could do that again.

The creators bless me, as the wolves seem to loose interest, going to chase after something that’s crashing in the brush behind them. I drop my upper body back onto the earth, staring at the leaves above.

Magic. I had forgotten that I was able to... With a feeling of disbelief, I touch my throat, wetting my fingers with blood. The keeper could heal us, so one would assume that I could as well yes? With shaky breaths I close my eyes, almost calming as I groped for the ability to do so. It felt like eons passed before I opened my eyes once again and dropped my hand from my throat. Can I not heal myself? Was I so weak in ability that I could only do the destructive magic of ice?

The chill of the mud sinking in pulls me from my growing panic. With my good arm, I roll over, biting my lip as all my weight shifts onto my shoulder. I manage to sit up and fumble my pack off my shoulders. With shaking fingers I pick at the tie of my pack; letting out a weak sigh as it finally opens and I fish out a bottle of Mamae’s regeneration potion as well as one of elf root. Downing them both, I pull out a small smashed thing of bread. With a tentative bite, I slowly chew it, letting it settle in my stomach before taking another. I move onto a second small loaf and can not stop myself from scarfing down the whole thing before moving onto water. I end up gulping down half of the pouch before I could get myself to stop. Tucking away the pouch and reclosing my pack, I lick my lips, eying the ledge behind me.

I roll my shoulders, testing for pain and silently thanking the gods when there is very little. Mamae’s potions were a little strong, but they helped more than I expected. Still my ankle wasn’t ready for more use, I begin making a splint as I make a think of a plan. Most clans were heading east towards Orlais or north to the harbors like my clan had been. I had foolishly raced into the forest without taking stock of what direction I was going. Although, mother had said there was a ravine to the east, leading towards the Drakon River so this must be it. I should just follow it till I reach an easier point to climb.

Eying the ledge behind me with skepticism once more, I shoulder my pack. I couldn’t make that climb no matter what idea I came to mind. I let out a frustrated sigh and start hobbling down the ravine, my ankle little more than a dull throb.

The day slowly grows old. The forest begins to settle as the last of the sun slips away. I haven’t gotten far. With all the breaks and my slow pace, I’d barely made it more than a mile down from where I fell. My stomach is gripped with hunger; my body throbs whenever I move. Sleep has begun tugging at my eyes, clouding my vision till I can barely see the ledge of the ravine as it grows darker.

Slowly the night morphs the forest from green to shades of blue and hues of purple. I admit defeat, needing to rest if only for a little while. Leaning against the cold wall of the ravine, I slowly slide down until I rest on the bottom. The chill slowly sets in, seeping into my bones, as my eyes grow heavier before they fall shut completely.

 

I’m beginning to grow tired of being surrounded by mud, having walked in the ravine for two days now I was starting to think I’m going the wrong way. I’ve run out of water and sleep eludes me, having often heard the sounds of snuffling along the ledge as well as distant howls have staved off all desires of sleep. I’m sorely tempted to scale the side of the ravine using the roots, my ankle be damned. Though, as the day grows to a close I stumble on the spot I was looking for. It was clearly an animal trail, slender and rather steep, but far easier to scale then the rest of the walls had been. Limping my way up the trail I almost let out a small cry of joy as I see the trees thinning in the distance. The faint sound of traveling liquid catches my ear; my mouth becomes dry as I move down the trail.

The last light of the day has slipped beyond the mountains when I break free of the forest. Glittering in the moonlight, just a few yards away, is what I assume is the head of the second branch of the Drakon River. Limping away from the edge of the forest, I drop my pack at the water’s edge, eagerly shedding my clothes and split before gingerly stepping in. Its coolness a sharp and bittersweet relief for my ankle, I fill my water pouches before slipping fully into the deeper parts of the river.

I stay in there, floating for much longer than I should have. The night grows later and my stomach rumbles loudly, eventually motivating me back to the bank. After dressing I sit with my feet in the water, chewing on strips of dried meat from what little food I have left. From somewhere off in the distance there is a pained cry, howls and distant snarls follow it shortly after. I doubt the blighted wolves will follow me out of the woods, but there is little about them that is predictable. That fact is enough to don my splint and push me to my feet, continuing down stream a ways until I could cross. I did not want to be on the other side of those jaws again. Through the night, the occasional howl echoed from the forest, spurring me on and chasing any thought of sleep from my mind until they sound far more distant than before.

It has been days since that night, all of them restless as I keep moving to keep distance between me and any pursuers that follow me into the thin grove of trees I entered two nights back. My ankle getting worse, with each step, having little rest was not aiding the healing. Having taken up a walking stick, I now could hobble along at walking speed.

Days continue to pass, my stomach rumbles, bringing my newest torment to my mind. Having ran out of food two days ago, I have started surviving off of herbs, berries, and roots that I could find along the animal trails I follow. It did little to fill me and keep me going, but I don’t have the strength to hunt, let alone fend off predators attracted by my kill. Then, right as I thought I’d made it through the thick of it, a heavy rain storm hits in the middle of the night. Thick sheets of rain come down constantly, slowing my travel to little more than a crawl. The animal trail becomes a thick soupy mix of mud and foliage, leaving me to cover what should have taken half a day in two. I haven’t seen any sign of a clan nearby, I begin to think that I’m just hobbling around the grove aimlessly and lost.

Three days after the rain, I finally break free of the grove. Wide expansive plains spread out before me and for a moment, I feel joy well up in my gut. That joy quickly turns into a sharp pain, dropping me to my knees as my stomach rolls so fiercely my body heaves to expel what isn’t there. Spots dance before my eyes; the plains spin, swirling into the sky as I look up. Then all I have is a mouth full of pine needles and dirt. My stomach rolls again, I gag on the debris filling my mouth as I convulse on the ground. Everything sounds so distant; my body feels heavy yet so light.

The soft sound of rustling leaves morphs into a rhythmic crunching of leaves, slowly it grows louder, faster, like a well formed song. I feel so warm; my arms lift up high, as if I’m touching the clouds while my body floats. I’m bouncing around, with soft chant melds into the hum of nature, all I see are the clouds before my sight drifts to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title "Liam Da'lan" - "Lost Child"


	3. Venem Tath'liam

The heady smell of wood, herbs, and furs hang in the dry air. The scent sits heavily on my tongue, pulling me fully from my dreams. Illuminated above me are large wooden beams, the creaking of wood and muted whispers of shifting fabric echo around me.

 I shift; the thick furs slide from my body. Goose bumps wash over my skin, spurring a shiver through me. My hazy gaze travels across numerous shelves, they house a variety of healing potions and poultices. Drying herbs hang from the beams, swaying with the familiar movement of an aravel. Slowly my memory begins to return, fragments falling into place.

I had fallen at the edge of the grove, the taste of dirt and bracken ghost across my tongue. There had been leaves crunching, rhythmically, a large warmth encircled me.

_I have been found._

My skin prickles as I cast a quick glance around the room. Waiting for movement, for eyes to meet my own. But all I see is swaying herbs, the slight shifting of glass in the wooden shelves.

Pushing off the furs, I shakily rise to my feet. A ghost of a thought crosses my mind, a splint and swollen ankle. However, my legs only quiver at the sudden use rather than pain. The lack of that draws my eyes downward. Yet, all I find is smooth skin; no discoloration, no swelling, no splint. With a flex of my toes, I take a few steps from the bedroll. Despite my trembling legs, I manage to stay upright.

_How long have I been asleep? How long have we been traveling? What clan was I with?_

My eyes turn back to the shelves, searching for some clue but only find the glass jars they hold. Some are stuffed with herbs, other let off a faint glow as their held liquid slosh about. The curiosity draws me near. The dull lantern glow mixes with the eerie back light of the unfamiliar potions illuminate the carvings of different flora and fauna on the edge of the shelves. Such ordinate craftsmanship holds my attention. The work of a forager clan, or perhaps traders. I gently drag my fingers along the carvings tracing the edge as I move along the shelves. Hanging herbs brush against my cheek, their heavy scent mixes with the lingering taste of potions as I take one breath after another. Each one spreads the sharp bitterness of elfroot and the sweetness of poppy thickly on my tongue. Continuing past the herbs, I skirt around a few chests, the darkness seems thicker than usual as my eyes strain to see simple shapes.

The aravel stops with a lurch, pitching me sideways and into the wall. The familiar clamor of opening aravels and the rustling of closing sails muffle voices shouting directions and unfamiliar elven. Right as I push myself back to my feet, there is a soft click and the door hatch opens an arm’s length away from me.

Dying light of the sun streams in through the trees outside, blinding me further as footsteps echo on the ramp. A blurry shape stops in the door way and I rub my eyes, rapidly blinking as my eyes begin to focus. Before me stands a woman, far taller than any other I’ve seen. She stares at me with a raised brow, the lines of the raven of Dirthamen crinkle along her forehead. Her form is slender, clothed in thin layered robes that drapes around her. Multitudes of braids, the color of faded ironbark glows in the golden light of the falling sun. Braids that are interwoven with beads and colorful ribbons tumble down her shoulders, framing her stern face. Her expression melts into something softer as she kneels before me.

“I’m glad to see you awake, da’len.”

Very suddenly, I’m hyper aware of my nudity as I catch a glimpse of additional eyes standing behind her, just in view of the door way. All wide and curious, all burning into me as they meet my gaze. She glances over her shoulder, clearing her throat. They quickly scatter back to their tasks; collapsing sails, expanding aravels, and building fires. We watch them for a moment longer till she turns back to me.

“My apologies, da’len. We have all been very worried; some feared you would be lost to us. When Inan found you, you were in quite a state.”

She stands; my mouth suddenly feeling as if stuffed with halla fur when I go to shape the words burning on my tongue. Questions that remain unspoken as she moves further into the aravel, stopping before a chest. I trail after her as she begins rooting through the chest; my eyes land on a collection of things beside her. My pack, bow, and quiver. How in Andruil’s name had I miss them before?

She lets out a soft hum, returning my attention to her and the light green tunic she was holding up. Then, with a warm smile, she refolds it before extending it and three other articles to me. The faint sent of lavender tickles my nose as I gently take the bundle from her. The fabric is smooth, cool, and much thinner than anything I’ve worn before. The texture was marvelous.

“How about you dress, then come see me outside. Dinner will be ready then.”

I step back with a jolt, pulling me from the bundle in my hands as her fingers softly brushing against my cheek. Her smile falls, brow furrowing just slightly. Fear clenches my gut, her hand lingers for a heartbeat more before hesitantly returning to her sash.

“Ir abelas, I should not be so familiar with you, da’len. Come see me when you are done, we will get you food and I shall answer any questions you might have.”

Another smile tugs at her cheeks, although this one seems to lack the warmth the others had held. Clearly, I have upset her. But as I watch her, I fail to spot the coldness in her that my Keeper had held. She gives me a small nod as she moves past and exits the aravel. I continue to stare after her for a moment longer before turning to the clothes and moving back to the bedroll.

Along with the tunic there is a pair of dark brown leggings, and two rolls of wrappings. The leggings and tunic slip on easily enough; the tunic hanging farther past my knees than proper and the leggings bunching around my ankles in an embarrassing amount. Though their largeness didn’t diminish their softness or warmth. The fabrics thinness was deceiving as the evening breeze nipped at my skin a little less. Forgoing the wraps, I pad out of the aravel; stepping off the ramp and letting the cool forest floor sinking into my toes.

My eyes scan the clearing, the forest having now turned dark. It was peaceful, cloaked in a purple hue that mixes with the soft blue light of the full moon resting high above the trees. Five or six fires burn brightly in the clearing, each one surrounded by fifteen or so people. Laughter and music came from all around the clearing, children ran about and there was a small cluster dancing. This clan was far larger than mine or any of the clans I’d seen before.

A rich smell hangs in the air, as I near the closest fire it grows in its intensity. My mouth begins to water, a growl echoes from my stomach as my eyes focus past the crowd and on the large bubbling pot over the fire. The woman from earlier stands next to the pot, stirring and occasionally tossing in herbs as she chatters with those around her. Something she says leads the crowd into a roar of laughter, all of whom I note, have vallaslin.

My steps still and unease blooms in my belly as I take in one marked face after another. This is obviously not a place for those my age; although, she had said to find her after I dressed. Biting my lip, I roll it between my teeth. Clearly, this is a gathering for the adults of this clan; there wasn’t a babe among them. For all I knew, they could be discussing something not meant for my ears, and since they weren’t of my clan I had no right. My shoulders drop as a sigh escapes me, I turn to wait by the aravel, only to stop short when I catch sight of a man watching me from the edge of the firelight.

His features are stern, harsh eyes and the sage colored lines of Mythal glimmer in the dim light. He jerks his head toward the woman, wedging a sliver of fear into my chest as our gazes stay locked together. Though as my inaction lingers, his brow pinches and lips thin. The clear distaste for my lingering was clear as he disappears into the crowd. A silence overcomes the crowd, and slowly their attention turns away from the center of the group. My pulse thuds in my ears, a chill settling in my veins as each set of eyes turn on me. I glance towards the slim opening between two aravels, if I moved now, I should still--

“Da’len, they suit you well.”

The woman parts the crowd, carrying two bowls as she nods towards my attire. A short chuckle comes from the man trailing behind her, the man with the harsh eyes. A sentiment we share as I toe the bunched fabric around my ankle.

“Ignore him for the moment, da’len. You must be starving,” she lifts the bowls a little higher and nods towards something over my shoulder, “We can settle over there.”

Turning in the direction she gestured to, a small fire glows against the dark just beyond the aravel I came from. She breaks away from the crowd, stopping a few paces away from me till I fall in step with her. As we walk in near silence, the man shadows us. His steps silent as we make our way past the aravels.

I watch him, my eyes following him as he settles onto a fallen tree. His bulky mass filling the small space. His form declares his warrior status, as does the sword bouncing against his hip. The woman takes the log at the head of the fire, leaving only a seat between the two of them. I hesitate for a moment, but one look from him sends my feet moving.

“Where am I?”

Pain lances my throat, the words scrape against my throat, weighing down my tongue as I force them past my lips. The woman holds out a water skin, I regard it silently as my tongue runs over my lips; brushing against the chapped skin.

"Da'lan, ma nadas numaval. Drink."

Rolling my lower lip between my teeth I hesitate, but her expression turns softer and I quickly take the water skin. I’ve never met someone with such kind eyes, she was the kind of person I wasn’t familiar dealing with.  I feel her eyes on me as I take a sip; lingering on me as I take in the bite of mint washing across my tongue, the faint taste of citrus. After a few more mouthfuls, I return the skin. She is giving me another warm smile while corking the skin, laying it across the log before passing me a bowl.

"Well, we are of the Clan Shalelan. I am the Keeper, Rogelan Shalelan." She gestures to the man on my left, "This is Inan. He found you just off the Imperial Highway; near the eastern branch of Drakon River. We are making our way to Highever."

My brow furrows, a shemlen town, for trade? My eyes flick to the shadows of the circled aravels. The folded sails held the hues of faint browns, lines of white and green flow across the pleats. No, wrong colors.

"From there, we are hoping to catch a ferry that will land us just outside of Kirkwall."

My eyes widen, my grip on the bowl turns tight. Yet she sits there relaxed, sipping her soup and fishing out a bite of meat and some chopped root.

"Why? What's in the Free Marches? Kirkwall?"

The corners of her mouth tug downward as she chews; after swallowing thickly she focuses on the fire. Her eyes turning cold as she stares.

"Because of banalhan, The Blight, has not been kind to our clan. We lost quite a few to the sickness it spreads; but we are still a large clan, one in need of new blood. Since Arlathvhen has been cancelled, we must travel to trade with others. There is Clan Lavellan, another clan in desperate need of new blood. They among many other reside in the Free Marches. Fereldan is becoming barren of our people so, we are leaving. Not only to get away from the banalhan, but to trade with Clan Lavellan, to be among more of our people."

I nod slowly as a moment of silence settles between us. She continues to eat while I mull over her words, thoughts of my clan looming in the back of my mind. Would they have survived if we had moved on like Clan Shalelan? Would we have been able to avoid the banalhan?

"What of your clan?"

A rough voice kills the silence; I meet Inan’s sharp gaze; holding it. As our stares linger, his eyes narrow and shoulders square. Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I do the same before letting the words tumble past my lips, rolling of my tongue like some half-truth. Hollow and cold.

"They're dead."

The crackling fire is suddenly too loud; my ears prickle as hot tears burn my eyes. I struggle to hold them down as I avoid their shocked stares. Inan's gaze crawls over me as the silence drags on, the demand for further explanation is almost tangible. An explanation I almost want to give, despite how heavy the words feel, how thick I'm sure my voice will come out.

"I never caught your name da'lan."

Keeper Rogelan softly breaks the silence, giving me an out from Inan's consuming gaze. These words come out easier but my voice is still thick with tears.

"Isala."

There is another lengthy pause, another expectation. I kneading my lower lip between my teeth as I mull over the thought of telling them of my clan. The Ravassan clan was not welcomed among other Dalish. If I told them, they would reject me, leave me here in the middle of the woods or worse. A tendril of fear anchors itself in my gut as the pause drew out, my breaths seemed harder to find.

"Da'lan, I am sorry to ask, but…" Keeper Rogelan soft voice seems almost alarmingly loud in this moment, "what happened to your clan? Was it humans? Darkspawn?"

This wouldn’t be something I need to hide, would it? The thought disappears as the wind changes; smoke begins to smother us, it burns my eyes and with my next breath the phantom smell of blood, metal and churned dirt. Distant laughter twists into cries of battle, clatter of dishes become clashing weapons, limp armor clad forms falling to the ground. The moist ground is wet with Mamae's blood, once again pooling beneath me. I’m cold, damp, my stomach lurches as everything begins to shake. By the gods was it another ogre?

"—'lan, da'lan? Isala?"

Arms cling tightly around me, the aroma of herbs and wood mix with thick scent of a summer storm. It prickles at my skin, the sharp taste of metal washes over my tongue. A voice speaks softly, whispering against my ear as thick hair and beads press against my cheek. All of which get washed away as a burst of cold air cuts into me.

“Isala are you back with us?"

The soft voice becomes familiar. The hurried words of worry are spoken against my ear, yet seem so far away. Everything is slowly comes to me, filtering through like voices under water. I stare up at Rogelan the fire light sparkling across her cheeks, small white crystals dust her skin. Reaching up, I brush her cheek; sweeping away the ice only to see larger, thick ones growing from the back of my hand. I stare, my breath caught in my throat as I slowly turn my gaze downwards. Ice encases my feet; sprawling outward they cover a good five feet before trailing off into a light dusting. Ice climbs over stumps, some creep up the stones lining the fire yet remain frozen; not a drip in sight. It was unnatural.

"...I did this?"

The question comes out soft, as if the words were spoken by another and not by my own lips. Rogelan brushes hair from my cheeks, her hands seem almost too hot against my own skin.

"You did not know you were an erelan, a mage?"

I shake my head slowly; her brow crumples with something akin to worry or surprise, maybe both.

"I—I didn't know till the ogre..."

She looks past me, most likely towards Inan but it’s a thought that barely registers. Her hands slide down my arms, uncomfortably warm. There is a quick flash of movement just over her shoulder and eyes, so many eyes. My breath sticks in my throat, a chilling sound echoes in around me as I feel the log disappear from beneath me. A sickening crunch of ice rings in my ears as I crash into the ground. Five or six pairs of eyes stare back at me from beneath the aravel, my throat grow tight and the world begins to spin. Then all I see is Rogelan; colorful braids, calm eyes, and a gentle smile.

"Da'lan, Isala, deep breaths. Take deep breaths da’lan. Center yourself. Feel your feet and how they connect to the earth.”

I gulp in air desperately, our eyes locked together as she takes slow deep breaths. Hot hands grip my ankles, pulling them from the ice; pressing them against the frosted grass. Gentle fingers splay across my feet, sliding up my calves to my knees.

“Feel my touch. Feel the earth beneath you. The summer breeze against your cheek. Ground yourself da'lan. Come back to us. You are safe."

Rogelan's hands feel cooler when they fall on my shoulders; I curl my toes into the dirt and lean forward. We sit there for a moment; my forehead resting against her chest, her warmth fully around me, breath steady against the back of my neck, and her heart beating steadily against her chest.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

With a shuttering breath, my eyes fall shut.

_One._

The feeling of warming earth; furrowing around my toes, clumping under my nails.

_Two._

The warmth of the fire on my side, Keeper Rogelan’s hands on my shoulders.

_Three._

The warm summer air stirring around me as it slowly begins to warm again.

_Four._

My breath falling in sync with hers, the tension falling from my shoulders. We stay that way for a moment longer before she draws back slightly, just enough for our eyes to meet.

"Now is a good time for us to retire for the night, it’s been more than enough excitement for one night I think."

Her voice sounds distant, but I nod as she pulls me to my feet. Hesitantly I eye space beneath the aravel as we pass. However, there are no eyes staring back this time, the fires have darkened and the clearing is quiet. I trail after Rogelan, following her back into the aravel from earlier. Closing the door behind us she lights a lantern before seating me in a stool near the chests. As soon as her hands leave my shoulders, a wave of exhaustion washes over me and I slump back against the walls. My eyes begin to feel heavy, my mouth going dry as I hear the faint trickle of water. Turning my eyes to her, I watch as she finishes pouring water from a small pitcher into a bowl. She plucks a few vials from the shelves, carefully pouring their contents into the water. She grabs a rag from the basket near her. My lids droop for just a moment and when they open again she is kneeling next to me, gently lifting my feet into the bowl.

Not a word is passed between us as she drags the rag against my skin, gentle hands wipe away the mud and warm my toes. My lips feel as heavy as my eyes, refusing to shape my thanks, to apologize. My eyes fall shut once more, opening right as my tunic clears my head. A warm cloth runs over my back, down my arms, and then along my fingers and under my nails. My tongue lays as still as my lips, refusing to speak my thoughts. I let out a heavy huff, a yawn stretching through me, eyes squeezing shut. This time when they open, I see Rogelan giving me a soft smile. I’m surrounded by familiar furs and warmth; my eyes follow her as she crosses the aravel. She opens the lantern door and snuffs out the wick, leaving us in darkness and me to my dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> da'lan - Child; young person (Feminine form)
> 
> Ir abelas - I'm sorry; my apologies
> 
> Da'lan, ma nadas numaval - Child/Young personf (f), you must be thirsty.
> 
> Banalhan - The blight.
> 
> Arlathvhen - The meeting of the dalish clans' keepers, which takes place every ten years and last two days.
> 
> Erelan - mage
> 
> Title "Venem Tath'liam" - Found yet still Lost


End file.
